


Hide and Go Seek

by layalee



Series: Stay [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent Feels, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cryptic Deaton, Derek Leaves Beacon Hills, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, RIP Allison Argent, Stiles-centric, stiles is sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layalee/pseuds/layalee
Summary: Stiles seeks out help from several people to try and find Derek Hale. It might not go as well as he hopes. Warring with his emotions and grief, Stiles finds obstacles everywhere he turns. But he won't let that stop him.This is the third installment in the Stay series.





	1. Possession

**Author's Note:**

> I come bearing gifts! No refunds allowed ;)
> 
> This is the third installment in the Stay series. I recommend reading the first two to be able to follow this one xx
> 
> Teen Wolf and its characters don't belong to me. No copyright infringement intended.

Stiles sits in his Jeep for a long time, hands curled tightly around the steering wheel, so tightly that he hears the faint creak of leather beneath his fingers. He’s been sitting there just debating whether he should go in or not, heart pounding and legs shaking up and down.

Hours or minutes later (he can’t tell the difference anymore) he heaves out a heavy sigh and finally makes a decision. Slowly, movements jerky and lethargic, Stiles removes the car keys from the ignition and pockets it. He opens the door and stumbles out, closing it gently behind him. He looks up at the building and slowly makes his way towards it.

It was time to see Chris Argent.

\-----

To say Chris Argent is surprised to see Stiles at the other end of his door would be an understatement.

“Stiles,” Argent says, shock coloring his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles takes in a deep breath. He has to do this. He’d go insane if he didn’t. “I need your help,”

Argent’s game face comes on and Stiles is reminded that this man is an ex-hunter who’s recently lost his only child and seems to still be surviving.

“Is everything okay? Is it Scott?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, this has nothing to do with Scott. He’s okay. Well, I think he’s okay. I haven’t seen him in a while,”

Argent frowns. “Come in.”

Stiles follows Argent inside and pretends not to notice the four locks he has on the door. He waits patiently while all four deadbolts are slid into place. The ex-hunter then turns to lead him into the sitting room and gestures for Stiles to take a seat. They sit in silence for a minute and Stiles is unwilling to break it just yet. He looks down at his fingers, unable to shake the feeling that something is _off_.

Argent eventually breaks the silence. “Stiles, what’s going on?”

Stiles finally looks up at him. “I think the nogitsune’s back,” he blurts out.

It says a lot about how their relationship has progressed that Argent doesn’t immediately draw a gun to point at Stiles. Still, the older man freezes immediately and his hand twitches, as if he wishes he _could_ reach for his gun without possibly insulting Stiles.

“The nogitsune’s gone,” Argent starts carefully. “It’s trapped. It can’t have gotten out.”

Stiles shakes his head almost manically. “It got out somehow. I don’t know how, but it did. It’s back, it’s in me.”

“Why do you think so?” Argent’s voice is calm but Stiles can hear the faint tremor beneath it.

Stiles’ mind flashes back to being on his knees in Derek’s loft, feeling the werewolf’s arms around him, hearing the alpha’s voice in his ears, _feeling_ Derek’s breath ghost across his skin. “Something happened,” he finally says, voice low and stiff.

He doesn’t say anything else. He’s reliving that memory and it’s _painful_. It’s still a raw, jagged wound in his chest that’s preventing him from being able to fucking _breathe_.

“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on,”

Stiles nods, still not looking at Argent. “Derek’s gone,”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Yes,”

“He left,” Stiles continues.

“He did,”

“He’s nowhere near Beacon Hills,” Stiles stresses, and even he can hear the utter misery in his voice.

“No, I don’t believe he’d stay in the area,” Argent agrees.

Stiles finally looks up at Argent, and he sees the man’s careful, assessing eyes. He needs that. That’s why he came to the ex-hunter and not anyone else in the pack. That’s why he didn’t turn to his dad, who would hug him, or Scott, who would try to convince him that everything’s fine, or Lydia, who even with her genius-ness wouldn’t be able to truly convince him that he wasn’t possessed. No, he needs the cold, calculating nature of Chris Argent, who would be able to analyze Stiles’ situation without any emotions blinding him or clouding his judgement. Chris Argent, who would be able to do what’s necessary, who would be able to make the hard choice.

“Derek’s gone,” Stiles repeats, and even saying the words causes his gut to clench painfully. “He left,”

Argent simply nods, waiting for him to go on.

“The other night…” Stiles swallows, the lump in his throat familiar to him after all these months of agony. He steels himself and goes on, needing Argent to know exactly what’s going on. “I felt him. I saw him, I _touched_ him. I heard his _voice_. He was there.”

“But he wasn’t,” Argent concludes, realization dawning in his eyes.

Stiles shakes his head slowly. “He wasn’t,”

“You think that the nogitsune is back because you… saw Derek,”

Stiles nods. “I don’t feel like I’m in control anymore. I feel like everything is slipping right out of my hands. I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I can’t even eat. I walk into a room and I forget why I came in there. I get too deep into my thoughts and when I surface, I realize that I’ve lost _hours_. I don’t want to hurt anyone," Stiles says lowly. "Not ever again."

Argent hmms, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. Stiles waits for the gun to come out. He waits for it and thinks, _maybe this is for the best. Maybe this way, I won’t hurt anymore_.

But the gun stays out of view, even though Stiles knows for a fact that Argent has one hidden beneath his jacket. He slowly blinks, not understanding why the ex-hunter isn’t reacting. He’d thought… He’d thought Argent would be happy, finally being able to get justice for his daughter’s death. Because _Stiles_ was responsible for Allison dying. He may not have driven the sword through her stomach, he may not even have been sharing his body with the nogitsune at the time, but it was still his fault. His _responsibility_.

But Argent does nothing.

“Hear me out,” the older man starts, and Stiles hears Allison in his voice and it makes him _ache_. “I don’t think that the nogitusne caused you to see Derek."

Stiles stares incredulously at him. “Of course it is. What else could it be?”

“Stiles,” Chris says, uncharacteristically gently, and that, more than if he’d been harsh and unbending, makes Stiles want to curl up and cry. “It was the malnutrition plus the sleep deprivation. Not to mention the… grief. It happens. Don’t worry, it’s not the nogitsune. That won’t ever happen to you again.”

Stiles freezes. Relief wars with agony in his heart and he stays silent, unable to make a sound, unable to form any words that could accurately describe what he is feeling.

He sits there on the chair where Allison must have sat at some point. He sits there facing the oddly kind face of the man whose daughter he killed. He sits there, and Argent sits with him.

\-----

_A few week later…_

 

Stiles hovers nervously just behind the mountain ash gate, fingers drumming restlessly on the wooden surface. He’s grateful that Scott has the day off and that he isn’t risking coming face to face with the friend he’s been avoiding. Scott’s worried about him. He walked in on one of Stiles’ research binges and thinks that Stiles is obsessed, that what he’s doing is unhealthy. Stiles doesn’t particularly disagree, but he also thinks it’s _necessary_. If he wasn’t doing what he’s doing, he’d go crazy.

Deaton appears from the back and comes forward, his trademark enigmatic expression on his face. He looks utterly unsurprised to find Stiles there. “How may I be of assistance, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles tires to smile but it comes out as a brittle grimace. He rubs his neck in what has become a nervous tick. “Hey doc. I need your help.”

Deaton doesn’t bat an eye, he simply reaches out and opens the gate (not even questioning why the younger man didn’t do it himself), allowing Stiles to pass through with a nod of his head. Stiles murmurs a low ‘thanks’ and walks to the back.

When he reaches the exam room, Stiles notices that Deaton was probably in the middle of sorting all of his herbs and other supernatural substances. The veterinarian picks up a large container of what appears to be mountain ash and begins pouring it into several smaller, clear jars.

“What can I do for you, Stiles?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “I need you to help me find Derek,”

Deaton doesn’t even falter, just continues to calmly pour the mountain ash into the jars.

“I don’t see how I can help you find Mr. Hale,”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ve been doing some research. _A lot_ of research. I’ve read that there are certain spells to help find someone, if you can find an object that meant a lot to them. Uh, well, Derek cleared his stuff out, so that one’s a bust. But there were other ways. There’s an amulet infused with certain herbs that I could wear and it would lead me to him. Or you could perform a spell to guide me to him,”

“Why do you want to do this, Mr. Stilinski? Clearly Mr. Hale left because he felt he could no longer stay in Beacon Hills,”

Stiles stiffens and a fresh wave of hurt overtakes him. He sees Derek’s face right before he picked up his suitcase and walked away from him without a word. He hears Derek’s voice in his ear, that stupid phrase which he memorized making his head spin, _“Derek Hale. Leave a message if you insist. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”_

“I need to do this,” he grits out eventually.

Deaton gives him a long look and then sighs. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Stiles,”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Why not?” he asks sharply. “Did Scott say something to you?”

Deaton’s silence is answer enough. Anger and guilt overwhelm him and Stiles slams his fist against the metal tabletop.

“It’s _my_ choice,” he says hotly.

“Even so, it’s not that easy,” Deaton calmly replies.

“You wouldn’t have to start from scratch,” Stiles says desperately. “You just have to find a way to amplify what I’m already feeling,”

The vet tilts his head. “How do you mean?” he asks, curiosity coloring his voice.

Stiles hesitates, then steels himself to say it out loud. “I think… I think there’s a connection between me and Derek. I can _feel_ him. Not like… Not like his emotions or anything like that. More of a general sense of his existence,”

Deaton stills, hand paused midway from where he was pouring mountain ash into a clear jar. He slowly looks up to gaze steadily at Stiles. “You can feel Derek?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably. “Sort of? I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t even know if I’m imagining it or not,” Stiles gives out a self-deprecating laugh. “I just sometimes feel _something_ that I know is _Derek_. But I need it to be stronger. I need it to help guide me to him. I need it to help me find him.”

 


	2. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles take the first step towards finding Derek. It's not something he ever thought he would do...

It’s the middle of the night and Stiles can’t sleep. Not that that’s a rare occurrence these days. Stiles can barely catch a few fitful hours of uneasy sleep before jerking awake, heart pounding and Derek’s name on his lips. But he had thought tonight would be different. His visit to Deaton had went well enough – better than he had expected, honestly – and he thought that taking action would grant him some respite.

He was very wrong. Stiles has no more ease of mind than he had at the beginning of the day. If anything, he’s more anxious now, more impatient to get started and find Derek.

Stiles heaves out a sigh and levers himself off of his bed  and walks over to his window. He leans his head on the chilly glass and gazes at the full moon. He wonders how Derek is doing. If the alpha is in control or not. If he’s thinking about him at all. If he’s with other people. Had he formed another pack?

Had he forgotten all about Stiles?

His heart jerks painfully and Stiles lifts a hand to rub at the spot, hoping that might ease the pain. “Where are you, Derek?” he whispers, his voice cracking on the alpha’s name. “ _Where are you?”_

“Stiles? What are you doing, son?”

Stiles startles and turns around. He sees his dad by his bedroom door, clad in a thin t-shirt and boxers. His dad is rubbing his eyes and squinting them at him. Stiles can practically _feel_ the worry radiate off of the sheriff.

He smiles tightly. “Nothing, Dad. I just couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed.”

His dad frowns. “Wanna talk about it?”

Stiles hesitates, wondering what his dad would think about all of this. His mind jumps to the events that had happened earlier in the day, and he almost smiles as he thinks of how his dad would react…

\-----

“To what lengths are you prepared to go to to find Derek, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles looks away from Dr. Deaton’s penetrative gaze. He hesitates, and then… Then he thinks about the way Derek used to look at him when Stiles went off-tangent and rambled about something so random and fucking _weird_ , the way his expression would soften and he’s just _let_ Stiles talk instead of stopping him. He thinks about the way Derek silently sat by his side when Stiles unexpectedly showed up at the loft in the middle of the night, hands trembling and eyes miserable. He remembers the way Derek’s eyes would cloud over and flash alpha red whenever Stiles was hurt, the way he’d grit his teeth and clench his hands. Derek had _cared_ about him, in a way that made Stiles’ heart _ache_. It’s the same exact way Stiles cares about the alpha.

Stiles turns back to the vet and steels himself. “I’ll do anything.”

Deaton gives him one of his rare smiles. “Very well. Let’s get started then.”

 

 

Stiles balks in front of the corner shop Deaton leads him to and turns around to gape incredulously at the vet.

“A _tattoo parlor_?” he squeaks.

Deaton smiles enigmatically at him. “Don’t fret, Mr. Stilinski. I’m sure you’ll overcome your fear of needles for this particular task. After all, didn’t you say you were willing to do anything?”

Stiles gawks at Deaton. “I didn’t know that involved getting a _tattoo_ ,”

The vet rolls his eyes and ushers him inside. “It’s not a regular tattoo. It would act as a magical link between you and Derek, strengthening the bond that already exists and allowing you to locate him more easily.”

 Stiles glances around the shop suspiciously. It smells like stale cigarettes and _fear_. Okay, maybe that fear was emanating from him, but seriously, _needles_. The guy at the front desk gives Deaton a slight nod and Stiles follows the veterinarian to the back of the shop. He tries not to let his surprise show that Deaton is well-known enough here that he can just go about without being stopped.

“I gotta say doc, I’d never have imagined you in a place like this,”

Deaton gives him an exasperated look but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge his statement. Stiles manages a small grin. It quickly falls.

“So this tattoo,” he asks, already cringing at the thought of needles and _pain_. “What does it have to be?”

Deaton barely throws a glance at Stiles as he makes his way to a door slightly ajar. He pushes it open and gestures for Stiles to enter. “Think about it, Mr. Stilinski. Something that would link you to Derek. A powerful symbol that means a great deal to him.”

Stiles stills and his heart suddenly beats faster. It clicks immediately. “A triskelion,” he breathes.

“Precisely.”

Stiles looks around. The room is well-lit, the walls covered in tattoo designs. The space is dominated by a large reclined chair and a worktable stationed next to it. Stiles walks up to the chair, fingers hovering over the leather, barely skimming the material.

“No touching!” A voice barks.

Stiles whips around to see a large, burly man come in from a side entrance. He is literally covered in tattoos. The man heads over to Deaton and clasps the vet’s hand in two of his.

“Ah, Deaton. It has been too long, no?” His accent is foreign. Stiles guesses Russian.

Deaton smiles serenely. “Vlad. It’s good to see you. I’ve brought you a customer,”

Vlad’s eyes travel to Stiles. He gives him a once-over and he does not look impressed. He lets out a grunt and turns back to Deaton.

“Who is this skinny boy?”

Stiles feels affronted but doesn’t say anything. He looks down at himself and grimaces. He _has_ lost a lot of weight in the past few months.

Deaton leans forward and whispers something to Vlad. Stiles strains his ears, trying to hear, but all he can pick up is “bond” and “spark”.

Vlad nods seriously and pats Deaton’s shoulder. “Ah yes, you should have said that from beginning, no? No worries, I give this skinny boy what he needs.”

He comes up to Stiles and looks down at him, eyes penetrative. Stiles stands his ground and lifts up his chin defiantly. He resists the urge to fidget. Apparently finding what he’s looking for, Vlad nods in satisfaction and tells Stiles to make himself comfortable on the chair.

Stiles does just that while he watches as Vlad gets his tools ready. The tattoo artist unlocks a cabinet at the corner of the room and takes out several jars of what look like herbs. Magic tattoo. Right. Because why wouldn’t such a thing as a magical tattoo artist exist?

Stiles fights back his nerves, reminding reminds himself why he’s doing this. _Derek_ , he tells himself. _This is for Derek._

“Where do you want this tattoo to be?”

Stiles looks at Vlad, then at Deaton. “Does it have to be the same place that Derek has it?”

Deaton shakes his head. “As long as it’s the same symbol, the location doesn’t matter.”

Stiles nods, then looks down at himself. He thinks about Derek’s tattoo, proudly painted on his back. He thinks of the daily reminder Derek must get whenever he catches sight of it when he passes by a mirror. He thinks of Derek and how much he fucking loves him, even after the hell he’s been through the past few months. He thinks of Derek, and Stiles knows he’s ready to do this.

Stiles shrugs out of his plaid shirt and tosses it on his lap. He rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt and takes a deep breath.

“Here.”

\-----

Stiles shakes off the memories of the day and focuses on his dad. His smile softens, becomes genuine. He hates that he’s been worrying his dad. He’s been trying to hide it as much as possible and down-play it when he can, but his dad knows him. He can’t get much past him.

“Thanks Dad, but I’m good. I think I’m just going to try to get some sleep.”

His dad sighs. The sheriff walks further into the room and up to Stiles, dragging his son into a warm embrace. Stiles melts, feeling safe for the first time in a very long while. Right here, in his dad’s arms, he feels like everything is going to be okay. He resists the urge to sob like a baby and instead grips his dad tightly, burying his face in the side of his dad’s neck. He breathes in the comforting, _familiar_ scent of his father and he can actually feel his muscles start to loosen. He feels some clarity coming back to his mind as some of his anxiety melts away.

Stiles ignores the stinging in his bicep and clutches at his dad, never wanting to let go.

\-----

Stiles writhes on his bed, eyes screwed tightly shut and sweat glistening on his forehead. He tosses and turns on the twisted, soaked-through bedsheets. His eyes fly wide open as he jerks up, sitting straight, a deep gasp shuddering through him.

There’s a constant throb of near-painful heat radiating from his bicep. Stiles’ hands shake as he rips his ratty t-shirt off of his body. He ignores the sound of fabric tearing and angles his head down to look at his tattoo. There’s no bandage covering it because as soon as Vlad had completed his work, he’d slathered some ointment on it that quickly healed the tattoo.

His eyes widen and his heart stutters in his chest. The tattoo is fucking _glowing_. Stiles’ shaking fingers hover over the triskelion. His fingers descend and brush over the glowing symbol in a feather-light touch.

Stiles involuntary clutches his upper arm in a bruising grip. His eyes roll back in their sockets as he arches off the bed, spine bent at a painful angle.

He’s assaulted by an overwhelming amount of feelings and images. _Derek. It’s Derek._

It’s so confusing that Stiles can barely understand what he’s experiencing. He feels sudden bursts of emotions coupled with dizzying, vivid snapshots. He tries to focus on just one, clutching at the current emotion zapping through him. _Freedom – running in the forest. He sees the moon shining high and proud above him, but it’s not actually him who’s seeing this. It’s not him who’s running. They’re not his feet pounding on the ground. They’re not his ears picking up the sounds of life around the forest. This isn’t his memory._

It’s Derek’s.

It lasts for barely ten seconds, but to Stiles it feels like a lifetime. He drops back down on his bed and lies there immobile, heaving in deep, painful breaths. His eyes shift to the tattoo on his upper arm and he watches as it fades from the blinding white glow to the normal black of the ink.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but it’s long enough for the sweat on his body to cool down and for his heart to return to its normal rhythm. Stiles just keeps on replaying what he’d seen, reliving how he’d felt. Not his feelings. Not his memories.

He feels a small grin unfurl at the corner of his lips. His heart jolts with the first true ray of hope he’s felt in _months_. Scott had told him his obsession was unhealthy and begged him to stop. Lydia had lectured him about his “behavior”, hugged him and let him cry it out, and then told him to try to move on. His _dad_ even changed his password so Stiles wouldn’t be able to access police databases in an attempt to locate Derek.

Stiles had considered listening to them. So many times, he had wanted to give up. Having hope is _hard_. It’s not easy to soldier on when there is a constant clawing _pain_ gripping his heart, twisting his guts, clouding his mind. It would have been so much easier to give up. To accept that Derek is truly gone from his life. To let go of the life he had envisioned he’d have with the alpha one day. It would have been so fucking simple to try and please his friends and family, to ease the worry in their eyes, to put an end to their hushed conversations that they always had when they thought he wasn’t listening.

But Stiles never did choose the easy road. And now he’s glad he never listened to any of them.

Because his plan is working. He’s going to find his alpha. He’s going to find Derek.

\-----

Stiles steps out of the rain sluicing over his face and into Deaton’s clinic. He takes out the key he used to unlock the backdoor – the one he totally stole from Scott three summers ago and made a copy of before returning it to the oblivious teen. He walks inside the dark clinic and closes the door behind him. He takes off the hood of his red hoodie and shakes his head, dislodging some of the dampness in his hair.

Stiles follows the sound of rustling papers and finds himself at the threshold of Deaton’s office. The older man is bent over a large, dusty book, with a magnifier in hand.

The vet doesn’t even look surprised as he lifts his head and sees Stiles standing there. He straightens up and raises an eyebrow at the teen.

Stiles takes a single step inside, gazing steadily at Deaton. “Well, Doc. It worked. What’s next?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line, make me smile ;)


End file.
